


After Death

by NightOfTheLand



Series: Before... [5]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Descriptions of battle, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Know Anymore, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Suicidal Thoughts, What Have I Done, an AU to my own AU, historical racial slurs, it starts that way, this might end up happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightOfTheLand/pseuds/NightOfTheLand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little in the doorway stood a ghost. Familiar dark eyes stared back at him from beneath dark hair that had come loose from it’s tail. The old Continental army uniform was worn and patched badly in places, the man’s face was lined with care and he looked older than his 27 years. Those long fingers tightened on his hat and a pained look crossed that familiar face. He cleared his throat before speaking, “Hamilton, I am sorry, I… I had nowhere else to go.” </p><p>-----<br/>John has made many mistakes. One of them might have been showing up on the Hamilton's door step unannounced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same world as Before, more specifically set after Before Yorktown and Before My Time. It starts with "After" because it does not fit exactly with the rest of the works. This is an au of this series, but it is included in the series for completeness and my own need to have things organized. It is not necessary to read those two before but I would check them out for completeness and there will be some references to Before Yorktown.  
> If there are any inaccuracies that I can correct please let me know.

“Ma’am, I am sorry to intrude,” a gentle voice spoke from the open doorway and Eliza wiped her hands on her apron before turning. The man who stood there had once been a handsome young man. Not that he wasn’t handsome still, but there were cares creased across his worn face, his dark eyes heavy with the weight of everything he had seen. His blue coat had faded to an almost grey, his once white tunic and cravat were yellow with dirt from the road. Enough of his face was cast in shadow from his hat that Eliza thought she vaguely recognized him - like a ghost from memories past- but she shook it off.

“Sir, may I help you?” she quired, sharp eyes appraising him.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before sweeping his tri-cornered hat from his head, holding it before his chest and made as if to execute a bow before he winced slightly and chose to incline his head sharply, “I am afraid I had nowhere else to go, ma’am, you see…”

His words were broken off  by Eliza’s sharp scream and the shattering of a bowl that was knocked from the counter in her shock as she reeled backwards.

 

Alexander started from his work at the sound of his wife’s scream. He was up and out of his office in a moment, work abandoned at a moment’s notice at his wife’s distress. The hard soles of his shoes clacked as he hurried towards the kitchen where he knew Betsey was spending her afternoon. She had taken to cooking - baking more precisely if the new softness of his features and around his belly were any indication.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen and was stopped in his tracks, his blood running cold at the sight before him. Betsey was leaning against the counter, hand over her heart, uttering little breathless laughs as she tried to calm herself. It was not the sight of her that sent his blood frozen.

Just a little in the doorway stood a ghost. Familiar dark eyes stared back at him from beneath dark hair that had come loose from it’s tail. The old Continental army uniform was worn and patched badly in places, the man’s face was lined with care and he looked older than his 27 years. Those long fingers tightened on his hat and a pained look crossed that familiar face. He cleared his throat before speaking, “Hamilton, I am sorry, I… I had nowhere else to go.”

Alexander blinked back tears and tried to contain himself but was unable as he rushed forward to embrace his dear friend. The two men held each other for a long moment, long than would be deemed appropriate in polite society. But polite be damned, his Laurens was back from the dead.

“Laurens,” Alexander choked out when he pulled back to hold his friend at arms length, appraising him with a critical eye now that he could see him better, “They said that you were dead. How is this possible?”

The other man gave a tiny bitter sharp bark of laughter, ducking his head, turning his hat in his hands as if he was unsure of himself. “Yes, well they all wished it so, I am afraid,” he ended up murmuring lowly for Alexander’s ears only.

“‘Laurens’?” Eliza’s soft voice broke the men from their embrace, “As in your John Laurens, Alexander?” Her tone didn’t sound as surprised anymore, it was as if she was merely confirming the reason she had been startled in the first place.

Alexander turned to his wife with a large winning grin plastered across his face, “The same!”

Behind him Laurens shifted as if uncomfortable, that same vaguely pained expression crossing his face. “I do not wish to intrude. My apologizes for startling you, Mrs. Hamilton,” he spoke slowly as if his words pained him.

Turning back to gaze at his dearly missed friend, Alexander frowned at the sight of sweat beading on the high brow, those dark eyes were glassy with pain, face pinched, even as he tried to hide it. “My dear Laurens, are you quite well?” Alexander took the other man’s arm again, steadying him as he swayed slightly.

“Yes,” the word came out as a slight croak before he cleared his throat, grateful for Hamilton’s hand steadying him, “Yes, I, thank you,” his words were stronger now pain fluttering across his briefly before he gave a weak smile, “Like I said, I did not mean to intrude. I shall just…”

“Nonsense,” Eliza spoke at the same time Alexander said, “Don’t even think about leaving.” Laurens couldn’t help but glance between the two of them, thinking how perfect they were for each other.

“Nonsense,” Eliza repeated, crossing towards him, “You shall stay for dinner, at least, Colonel Laurens, I am afraid I must insist.” she added when it looked as if he might protest, smiling at him gently, taking his other arm, leading him into the house towards the front sitting room. “I desire much to hear about my husband’s antics during the war,” her eyes sparkled as she said this.

Alexander’s flush started at the tips of his ears as he cleared his throat, hand resting on Laurens’ shoulder as they entered the sitting room, leading Laurens to the plush couch. The other man sank down onto the couch gratefully. “Well, maybe not all my antics,” he quipped grinning at Laurens’ who inturn returned the smile with a dim one of his own.

“But you dear man! You must tell me how you have come to be seated in my parlor!” Alexander was quick to change the subject away from himself, perching himself on an armchair across from the couch, as Eliza turned away from the men with a smile, returning to the kitchen briefly to pour Laurens a glass of water. The poor man looked as if he was going to pass out at any moment.

Laurens was silent for a moment taking in his surroundings, the room outfitted in warm colors that made him instantly feel welcomed. Art hung on the walls and the front window was thrown open letting in the still warm early autumn breeze. He cleared his throat, fiddling with the hat he held in his lap,  “There is not much to tell,” he spoke softly, looking up when Eliza returned with the water. He happily took the water and downed half the glass before wincing again, shifting slightly where he was seated.

“You were reported dead.” Alexander’s voice was tight, those blue eyes brimming with an emotion Laurens couldn’t place, “Your father wrote me and said you had died in a skirmish with retreating British forces.”

Eliza looked between the two men before deciding it best to leave them alone. She knew her husband would share the tale with her later, but there was history here, history she was not yet privy to. She lay a gently hand on her husband’s shoulder as a sign of comfort before she returned to the kitchen.

Laurens watched her until she was out of sight before meeting those blue eyes that were staring at him as if he was going to disappear any moment. He took a moment to appraise the man before him, smiling gently as he took in the ginger hair pulled back into a tight tail, green velvet suit and breeches, hard soled shoes. He looked good. But there were dark circles under his eyes as if he wasn’t sleeping enough even though the war was over. Laurens sighed, bringing a hand to his chest in pain as he did so.

“I was being truthful when I said there wasn’t much to tell, my dear Hamilton,” the words were slow, “But I shall tell what there is to tell.”

The deep breath Laurens took was probably a better idea in theory than in practically, but he gritted his teeth, looked away from Hamilton’s stare, and when he spoke his words were sharp with pain, “We learned that the British were moving heavy artillery up the river. I was dispatched with the Delaware infantry to stop the movement at Chehaw Point. Before we reached the Point we were ambushed. At least 100 men, they came out of nowhere.” Pause. “It was a bloody mess, if you pardon the poorly placed swear. I was shot in the initial British volley, knocked from my horse. My boot somehow got wedged in the stirrup and I was dragged down the road when my horse bolted. The next thing I remember was waking up being tended to by a farmer’s wife.”  

Another pause in which Alexander crossed the room to sit directly next to Laurens, gaze sharp, he rested a hand on Laurens’ knee and the dark haired man swallowed hard, staring at the tawny skin contrasting once tan of his breeches, before he continued.

“As soon as I was well enough to travel I departed for home. On the road I learned that my father had decided to declare me officially dead.” He frowned, finally looking up meeting those blue eyes. “So I turned North, I hoped I might beat the news of my death, but it seems I did not.”

There was a heavy silence between the two men as Alexander’s eyes roamed Laurens’ face as if afraid if he looked away the other man would disappear. “I am glad you came to me, John,” Alexander’s voice was soft, for his friend’s ears alone, and Laurens felt his heart skip a jump at the casual use of his Christian name. He felt breathless and he knew it had nothing to do with his still healing wounds.

“I…” he looked away from those impossible eyes, “I was not sure of my welcome here, if I may be candid. After Yorktown, I…”

“Nonsense,” Alexander said forcefully, “That night is one of my fondest memories, my dear Laurens. If you had not come here for fear of it being other wise I would hunt you down and kill you myself.”

The statement made with all of Alexander’s normal vigor and passion startled a laugh out of Laurens before the laugh turned to a wince of pain followed by a sharp inhale as he pressed a hand to his chest.

“You are still in pain,” the words were a statement not a question and Laurens only nodded not trusting himself to speak at this particular moment. “Let me call a doctor, have him tend you to, at least give you something for the pain.”

Laurens looked up at Alexander again and saw there was no room for protest in those blue eyes but he tried anyway, “Really that is unnecessary, I assure you. I will be quite well soon enough.”

Thin lips pursed in an almost shrewish way, “I will not let you die in my house, even if you are already dead.”

A slight shake of his head was all he managed before a sharp cry from upstairs snapped his head towards the sound. It was followed by the sound of Eliza hurrying up the stairs and then her soothing voice. Laurens looked back at Alexander his eyes wide in surprise, anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach. “You have a child?” his voice was low.

Alexander seemed to be oblivious to Laurens sudden discomfort, “A son. Philip.” The pride was evident in his tone even as his face lit up with the thought of his son.

“A son.” Laurens repeated, trying his best to make it sound as happy as he knew he was supposed to be. He was being silly, of course Alexander and Eliza would have children, he had known that Eliza had been pregnant before Yorktown. For some reason it still shocked him. “Congratulations, Alexander.”

The other man’s smile grew if that was even possible, “I never thought my best friend would get to meet my son, but it seems fate has decided to smile on a fool after all.”

Panic coursed through Laurens for a moment, and he wasn’t sure where it came from. He could hear Eliza coming down the stairs, cooing at the child, Alexander was still smiling at him and it was all too much. “I am sorry, I should not have come,” he said, standing suddenly, ignoring the pain that flared in his side as did. It was worse than it had been in a while and he struggled to breath as he made to take a step, “I should…” he did not finish the sentence as the world went dark around him.    

“John,” was Alexander’s startled shout before Laurens remembered no more.  

 


	2. Floating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You show up on my doorstep, back from the dead, only to nearly die on my parlor floor. Typical John Laurens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 for your viewing pleasure. I hope you enjoy. And as always if you see glaring mistakes please let me know. Enjoy!

“You show up on my doorstep, back from the dead, only to nearly die on my parlor floor. Typical John Laurens.” 

He wakes to an indigent Hamilton’s voice. And to the softest bed he has even been in in his life. There is a moment of shock upon waking, he was sure he had died on the Hamiltons’ parlor floor, but if he was hearing the very familiar sound of Alexander’s teasing exasperation than he was surely not yet dead. In fact, he felt further from death than he had in awhile. He felt… floaty? Was that even a way one could possibly feel? 

The noise he made was meant to be words but instead came out as an unintelligible groan. A hand smoothed over his hair and he blinked heavy eyelids open to met blue eyes. That long ginger hair was falling from its tail and Laurens wanted to reach out and tuck it behind Hamilton’s ear. But his limbs would not obey him. 

Alexander’s smile was tentative but bright, lines forming around those amazing eyes as he sat forward in the chair that had been placed by the bed. “Welcome back,” he quipped, smile going taunt before the look disappeared.

Laurens tried for words again but none came, only a very pronounced wince and another groan as he shifted on the bed. He noted that he was bare from the waist up except for heavy white bandages that swathed his chest. They had become a familiar sight over the course of the last month. That floaty feeling was starting to retreat and the pain that had been his ever constant companion for too long started to re-emerge. 

“You gave us a scare, my dear Laurens.” Alexander spoke again, voice low this time, hiding all that he really wanted to say that Laurens knew the other man was hoping he’d pick up on. And he did and something worse than pain filled him and he sluggishly turned his head away from the man that it seemed had kept vigil over him. Eyes squeezed shut, and another groan escaped him. This was not a sound of physical pain, but one of emotional pain. It was all too much, his Alexander here, looking at him with those eyes, everything that had happened. A single tear slipped from beneath closed lids and he gasped for breath as the pain both physical and emotional overwhelmed him.

“John!” Alexander’s voice was panicked and after a moment a warm hand cupped the back of his head, something pressed to his lips. “Drink this, John. It will help with the pain.” There was so much panic in Alexander’s voice that he dare not disobey. 

The taste of the liquid on his tongue was bitter and it made him want to gag but he swallowed it down obediently. After another moment he opened his eyes meeting that amazing blue. He couldn’t help the crooked smile that turned up his lips as his vision went dark again, body tingling with that floaty feeling again. “Alex…” he breathed before letting the darkness take him again. 

 

Alexander sat back heavily in his chair. His gaze never leaving the still figure on the bed even as he recapped the vial and set it on the bedside table. It was so much, almost too much for him to take in. He had imagined a reunion with Laurens after the war, even after he had learned of his supposed death, and none of his imaginings had ended like this. Not with the other man laid out in his guest room, swathed in bandages, out of his mind on either pain or fever or laudanum. It had been 3 days since Laurens had collapsed in his parlor and still there was no sign of improvement other than the fact the man had woken without screams of pain. 

He hung his head, running his fingers through his hair that he had pulled from its tail and now hung loosely around his shoulders. It was in need of a trim, but he had been too busy to be bothered, and now, well, now the thought of leaving his friend’s side filled him with anxiety. His heavy sigh was the only sound in the room other than Laurens’ now even breathing. Forcing himself to look back up at his friend he couldn’t help the emotions that flooded him. 

It had all happened so fast, seeing Laurens alive standing in his kitchen. There had been no time for anything other than gratitude and joy and excitement at the new knowledge that his dearest friend still lived. And now, sitting here, watching the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest as he breathed, Alexander couldn’t help but think about how it had been. The last time he had seen John, that last night before Yorktown, his unfinished letter, the sound of his name of those soft lips.

Alexander blinked back tears of his own at the sound of a gentle tapping on the door. That would be Eliza. He rose, wincing at the crack of his knees. He wasn’t old enough to have his joints start cracking, but he supposed he had been hard enough on his body for an entire life. 

It wasn’t Eliza at the door, but Anna, the freed slave girl Eliza had hired to help her around the house. She was young and bright and Eliza had been right in hiring the girl. When he opened the door she tried to give an awkward little curtsey as if Alexander had some high station in life. She did this every time, even when Alexander had told her a hundred times she need not. Eliza had told him it was because the girl was trying to show respect for a man who had given her a new chance at life, which just made Alexander scoff, it hadn’t been him that had done that, but Eliza. 

“Yes, Anna,” he greeted, gracing the girl with a small inquiring smile. 

“Sir, Ms Hamilton ask if you might be coming down soon,” she paused, peering past him into the room briefly, “I’ll sit wit him, sir, call you if he wakes.” 

He shook his head briefly, “That won’t be…” 

“Alexander,” his wife’s voice cut him off. She stood at the top of the stairs, a patient expression on her beautiful features, Philip on her hip. The sight of her never failed to take his breath away. She still could make him weak at the knees. “You need to rest. You need to eat. Anna will call you as soon as he wakes, won’t you?” she addressed the last to Anna who nodded vigorously, her eyes wide and earnest. 

Alexander cast a look back at the figure on the bed, brown hair fanned out around a much too pale face. He swallowed hard before looking at the the imploring brown eyes of his wife. “As soon as he shows any signs of waking, Anna, yes?” he said to the girl who nodded again. 

“Yessir, I promise, sir,” she said a determined set to her brow. 

He sighed again and went to retrieve his coat from where he had draped it over the back of his chair. Anna followed him into the room, settling herself in the chair by the bed, watching Laurens’ sleeping face intently. Alexander couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. 

“Thank you, Anna,” he said and he hid a tired smile when the girl ducked her head and he was sure if she had not been so darked skinned there would be a furious flush upon her features. 

Eliza was still waiting for him at the top of the stairs, watching as he pushed the door open fully and then went to her side. He placed his hands on her hips and kissed her gently, relishing the feel of her body melding her his. “I love you, Betsey,” he whispered before kissing the top of his son’s head, downy soft curls tickling his lips. 

The infant giggled and made grabby hands at his father’s hair as it fell in his face. Alexander couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at the light in his son’s brown eyes, “I love you too, Philip, yes I do,” he cooed back at the child, heart lighter for a moment. 

Eliza’s gentle laughter was infectious, “Good, you can hold him for a while, he wants his father,” she said, handing the child over. Philip giggled again and tugged on the long ginger hair that was suddenly within his reach. Alexander answered his wife’s laugh with a small one of his own as he readjusted the squirming child in his arms and followed the lady of the house down the stairs to dinner. 

  
  


When Laurens woke again it was to soft humming. The world slowly came into focus, much slower than it had when he had woken last time. He didn’t feel quite as floaty as he had last time, but the soft bed beneath him was still wonderful. He lay still for a moment not wanting to alert the person humming that he had woken. The song was one he thought he recognized, something he had heard a lifetime ago. Something haunting from his childhood in South Carolina. 

Curiosity got the best of him and he blinked his eyes open. There was weak light filtering in through the closed curtains and the room was washed in shadows. It wasn’t as hard to turn his head to look at the person sitting next to him. He was unsurprised to find it was not Alexander. He was, however, surprised to see a young dark girl sitting here. A flare of disappoint flared in his stomach before he forced it down. His Hamilton would not own a slave, she must not be a slave. The man was too passionate about his beliefs in the abolitionist movement to own a slave. 

A soft noise of discomfort brought the humming to an end and intelligent dark eyes to his face. The girl smiled brightly. “You’re awake! Mr. Hamilton will be that glad, sir!” she said, rising from her chair, “Stay, I go get him.” 

He watched with bemusement as the girl disappeared from the room at a near run. A small chuckle escaped his lips before he winced. He wondered how long he had been in this bed, his limbs felt like lead and his head was aching worse than his chest. Everything from the time he had collapsed to the floor to now was foggy. He knew he had awoken briefly, enough to establish that he did not like feeling like he was going to float away, before doing exactly that. 

The clatter of quick footsteps drew him back to the present. In an instant a warm hand had taken his and Alexander was back in the chair by his bed. Blue eyes stared at him with so many emotions Laurens could not even begin to name them. Laurens blinked at him before willing his mouth to obey this time and speak the words he was thinking. 

“I’m sorry for almost dying on your parlor floor,” he croaked out, about every other words clear but it must have been clear enough because Alexander broke into a smile and a short light laugh. 

Alexander squeezed his hand, eyes shining, “You did not die, that is the only thing that matters, my dear Laurens.” 

Laurens tried to laugh with him but he ended up wincing and coughing from the dryness of his throat. The cough sent spasms of pain through his body and he tensed when he felt Alexander release his hand. It was a few moments before the other man was back, a glass in his hands, helping Laurens to sit up enough to take a sip. 

“It is just water, Laurens,” Alexander whispered in response to Laurens hesitation. Gratefulness seeped through him as the cool liquid flowed over his tongue and down his parched throat. After what seemed like a lifetime of drinking the glass was empty and Alexander helped him lay back against the pillows. 

“Thanks,” Laurens mumbled, all energy suddenly leaving him. 

A hand went to his hair, gently smoothing the sweat damp locks away from his face and if he had had the energy Laurens was sure he would have purred like a big cat. Instead he merely closed his eyes, letting Alexander stroke his hair. It felt better than anything had in a very long time. 

“Sleep again, my dear John. You will feel better in the morning.” Alexander whispered, hand still petting him, and Laurens let himself sink into the warm darkness of natural sleep. 

  
  
  



	3. Eliza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter as sex in it. At the very beginning. Note the rating change as well, this is about to get dark so hold on, y'all, and relish in the lightheartedness while you care.  
> Also, there will be a new chapter up every Friday. (I am late with this one sorry.)

Alexander took a moment to continue to stroke the dark hair, smiling down at the resting figure. The other man would be well soon and then all would be well. He sat back in the chair after a long time of doing nothing but petting Laurens’ hair, the action more soothing for him than for the sleeping man he knew.  

There was something akin to guilt settling in his stomach at the knowledge that his lover -former lover, who knew at this point - lay in his sickbed before Alexander and that Alexander’s wife was down the hall putting their son to bed. It was like the two halves of him were at war with the other. He sighed, watching Laurens sleeping face. It was still tense with pain but at least he was sleeping on his own. Tomorrow he would take some food, and then he would get better. 

He left the door mostly open so he could hear if Laurens needed anything during the night when he retired to his own rooms. Eliza had already stripped down to her shift and was removing her stockings when Alexander came up behind her, kissing the back of her neck. 

“You know I love you,” he murmured against her skin, as she straightened, letting herself be drawn flush to him, front to back. 

“And I love you,” she replied, a little breathless at the end when he spun her around to face him. His lips captured hers and she relaxed into the kiss, her hands finding his still unbound ginger hair. His hands rested on her hips for a moment before wandering south to slip under her shift. Her bare skin was soft and she sighed against his lips as he stroked up her thighs. 

Eliza’s sigh turned into a soft moan as Alexander’s fingers found her center. She pulled away from the kiss to rest her head on his shoulder even as his fingers teased her. Her breath was warm against the side of his neck as she panted. Nimble fingers found his cravat and tugged at the intricate knot, pulling the fabric loose so she could kiss the exposed skin. 

The noise he made was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth through her, even as his fingers delved into her folds, slipping in the wetness there, causing her to shudder in his arms. She stood on tiptoes to bite at his earlobe whispering, “Take me to bed, Alexander.” 

He made another strangled noise of desire and walked her backwards, his hand never leaving her; her hands attempting to unbuttoning his waist coat. The back of her knees hit the bed and she tumbled down, landing on her back his lips kissing down her neck. Fingers rubbed at her clit and she gasped, her own hands moving from the waistcoat to tangle in his hair. Her back arched off the bed as he slipped one long finger into her. Lips mouthed over her still clothed breasts and she pressed herself up into Alexander’s hand, body trembling as he stroked her from the inside out. She cried out as she shook apart, body tensing arching up into Alexander, his fingers insistent against her, his lips find hers again. 

She lay panting as he pulled away, giving her a look that set her on fire again. He took the moment to finish unbuttoning his waist coat letting it fall into a heap on the floor. It was followed by his shirt, shoes kicked across the room causing her to giggle slightly, than his breeches and stockings. She raked an appreciative eye down his nude body. Gone was the rail thin young man she had met and in his place was a man who looked healthy and hale. And clearly interested if his erection was anything to go by. 

Alexander returned her gaze with one of his own, running his hands back up her shift, this time taking the fabric in hand pulling it off and tossing it carelessly off the side of the bed as he crawled up to join her. His lips were warm against hers and she arched her body into his, feeling his erection pressing against her thigh. 

“Alexander,” she sighed, wrapping her legs around his waist, “Please.” 

He took his cue and slid into her center causing her to moan, fingers tightening in his hair, head tossed back. Her moan was answered by Alexander’s deep groan. He felt so good inside her, his body making her feel things she had never imagined. When she and her sisters had whispered about wedding nights and marital duties as young women this had not been expected. And to have found a husband who was so attentive. Eliza was the luckiest woman in the world to be able to have him whenever she desired. 

“Oh, Betsey,” he whispered as he kissed her neck, thrusting into her. She was perfect in every way, the way she felt around him, her little breathless moans in his ear. They way her fingers tugged at his now hopelessly tangled hair set him on edge, her heels digging into his back as he thrust into her, his rhythm faltering as he reached between them to rub at her clit again. 

Eliza’s body spasmed around him at his touch and she came again with a cry, her body tightening around him. His answering groan was muffled by her shoulder, thrusting into her once more before emptying himself into her, biting down gently on her shoulder as he came. 

They lay wrapped around each other, sweat cooling on their skin, Eliza drawing abstract designs on Alexander’s bare chest. He was staring off into space as he stroked Eliza’s shoulder absently. She dropped a kiss to his chest, jerking from his thoughts. 

“What has you so distracted, my dear?” she quired gently, nuzzling his neck. 

Alexander sighed, tightening his arm around his wife. It was improper to be thinking about another while in bed with his wife, especially after coupling, but he could not pull his thoughts away from the man who lay down the hall. He sighed again before speaking, “I must return to work in the morning, the courts wait for no one.” 

Eliza made a noise of acknowledgment, nodding against his skin. “Of course. And I shall send for you if anything goes amiss with our Mr. Laurens,” she said gently, sleepiness coloring her words. 

Those words made Alexander’s heart light for some reason. He had known she would say them, would reassure him that she would look after his Laurens while he was away, but hearing her say it made him glad. 

He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, “Sleep, my love.” 

She hummed again. He felt her breathing gradually slow into sleep and he willed himself to follow her example. 

 

The next morning found Eliza hesitating at the bottom of her own stairs, a tray laden with a bowl of soup and a small glass of watered down wine. She had looked in before coming down to break her fast alone, Alexander having departed with the rising of the sun. Anna had arrived and was keeping an eye on Philip who had been fed and changed and was now happily playing with brightly colored blocks. Now the only thing left for her was check on her house guest once more. Only now there was more chance of him being awake and for some reason she was nervous about speaking to her husband’s best friend, 

Shaking herself with a stern reminder that she was a grown woman, she mounted the stairs, her shoes clacking with each foot fall. The door was still partially open- the way she had left it this morning after first looking in on him. She knew that before Alexander had left he had checked on Laurens, voice low as he spoke to the sleeping figure. Now, she pushed the door open gently, balancing the tray in her hands, entering the room as silently as she could. 

The figure on the bed had shifted in the night, rolled slightly onto his left side, blankets shoved down midthigh. She set the tray down on the low table next to the bed before telling herself to not be silly and straightened the blankets, draping them so they fell just above his waist. The man let out a little noise as if the movement had woken him and Eliza froze for a moment before telling herself yet again that she was being silly. 

Turning back to the tray she sighed, she had hoped he would be awake to eat. It had been four days since he had taken anything other than water and the occasional laudanum for the pain. She glanced back at the man to be met with sharp brown eyes staring at her. She blinked in shock before smiling, sitting down in the chair still by the bed. 

“You are awake. How do you feel?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap watching the man lick his lips before croaking out a reply. 

“Like I have been dragged by a few hundred horses,” his voice was rough with disuse and Eliza was quick to fill the glass on the bedside table with water, helping in drink it. 

He lay his head back with a grateful sigh, “Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton.” He sounded wary of her, as if unsure how he should speak to her. 

She smiled gently, setting the now empty glass back on the table. “Would you like something to eat, Mr. Laurens? I brought soup,” she gestured to the tray vaguely.       

It took him a moment to reply as if struggling to find words through a fog. “I… Yes, thank you. Maybe a little.” He finally mumbled, shifting slightly flutter of pain flaring across his face. 

Eliza moved to help him sit up, her hands cool on the still slightly fever warm flesh of his bare shoulders. There were more of this pain filled looked and the occasional noise of discomfort before they had him propped up against the headboard supported by pillows. 

“It is not much. But you have not eaten in several days, and I do not wish to see you ill.” Eliza said turning from Laurens back to the tray before hesitating, “Do you need assistance?” 

Laurens cleared his throat, a flush that had nothing to do with his still present fever coloring his cheeks. He pressed a hand to his right side and winced as the movement jarred his wounds. 

“Well, Mr. Laurens, you are in luck that I have been practicing for this very moment for nine months now!” Eliza quipped when she saw the look of conflict in his eyes. 

She was gentle with him, handing him the bowl to hold but lifting the spoon to his mouth for him. She talked softly about how worried Alexander had been. She told him about her son and her family. She answered his questions about what had happened while he had been unconscious. At those her eyes had gone dark and she told him the doctor said it was a miracle he was alive. The infection was so severe he had been shocked that Laurens had stood for as long as he had without passing out. She said there had been moments of terror on Alexander’s face as he watched over Laurens day and night, even foregoing his work. All the while as she talked she fed him carefully, her ease with him growing. 

Once he said he had had enough she set the mostly empty bowl aside and returned to her chair. He spoke lowly now, voice still scratchy from disuse and pain. He told her about how he and Alexander had met. (He did not tell her of that night in the tavern surrounded by people and all Laurens could see were Hamilton’s blue eyes filled with fire and his ginger hair glowing in the firelight.) He told her some of the tamer stories of the war he knew Alexander would never tell himself from embarrassment- the time Lafayette had discovered Alexander spoke French and then firmly planted a kiss to each cheek while General Washington stared and Laurens and the other aides-de-camp had tried to keep from laughing at the flush on Hamilton’s face that had his hair look pale. 

   He enjoyed her gentle laugh at his story and he was glad Alexander had found a woman as amazing as his wife was. After too short of time, barely an hour Laurens felt himself growing tired. Eliza was quick to notice and helped him lay back in the bed properly, telling him to call for her if he needed anything at all, that she would come back in a few hours to check on him again. 

Before she left she asked if he wanted help with the pain. He hesitated to say yes, but she noted the tenseness of his body, the sweat the beaded his brow. Nodding to herself at his expression of consent she dropped two drops of the laudanum into the rest of the wine and held the cup to his lips letting him drink. She left as he drifted off to sleep, the lines of his face relaxing as he slipped into a fog. 

When she returned with dinner some hours later, Laurens had managed to prop himself up against the headboard, sweat dampening his brow and upper lip as his face was tense in pain. 

“Men!” Eliza exclaimed, setting down the the tray of food a little more forcefully than was necessary, “You should have called for me to help you.” 

Laurens set his jaw stubbornly and she recognized that look, had seen it on her husband’s face enough to be intimately familiar with it. He opened his mouth to respond but she shook her head, “Doesn’t matter now. And did my husband teach you that look of utter stubbornness or did you teach him?” her tone shifted from scolding to gentle teasing, “It is no wonder you’ve survived this, Mr. Laurens, with a stubborn streak the size of the Northwest territory.” 

He gave a gentle huff of laughter, face still tight in pain, “Please, Mrs. Hamilton, I do think we are beyond propriety as of now. John will be fine, or if you prefer, Laurens as your husband does.” 

Eliza blinked at him for a moment before smiling, handing him the bowl of soup. She had brought some bread for him to try as well, but she left that aside. “Laurens than, and of course you shall call me Eliza.” 

Dark eyes stared at her for a moment before he gave a smile that though tight with pain was sincere, “Of course, Eliza.” 

 

Alexander stepped into the darkening entryway of his home. Burr had shooed him out of his office telling him to “Go home, Alexander” before basically manhandling him out the door. It was quiet in the house, which in and of itself was not unusual. He made his way upstairs, cringing at the loud clacking of his shoes. It wasn’t particularly late, the early autumn sun still barely lighting the sky, but he knew the Philip was probably already put down for the night and he did not want to wake him. 

The door to Laurens’ room was opened and Eliza’s laughter could be heard as he reached the top of the stairs. He frowned at first and then couldn’t help but smile, it made him glad that two of the most important people in his life were seeming to get on. 

This thought stalled when he reached the doorway and entered the room. Two pairs of dark mischievous eyes looked up at him. Eliza from where she was seated next to the bed, Laurens from where he was propped up on pillows against the headboard. 

When she caught sight of her husband she burst into laughter again. Alexander frowned looking to his oldest friend for an explanation only to find him chuckling quietly face showing nothing but mirth and the tell-tale signs of the pain he was still in. 

“Did you really tell General Washington the proper way to greet the French was with a kiss on the lips?” Eliza finally got out between her giggles. 

Alexander felt his ears go warm and then the rest of his face and he knew he was bright red. No, he was no longer glad his wife and best friend were getting on, it seemed they were going to use their new friendship to embarrass him as much as possible. And, despite his furious blush that he could not control, he was more than alright with these happenings.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. And as always if you find any glaring errors please let me know!


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so short because it was so hard to write for some reason. Just, really hard to write. It is also late because I am trash, and because again this was really difficult. So enjoy, I will have the next one on time, I promise.

It was the third time in as many minutes that Hamilton had sighed to himself. The man was spinning his pen between his fingers, frowning at the page laid out before him on the desk. It was clear he was being less than productive. 

Aaron Burr sighed in response, though a little less audibly than Hamilton had been. There was a new type of energy about the slighter man, something Burr could not identify. It was like the man was about to shake out of his skin. 

“Hamilton,” Burr said closing his book. They had a lot to do but if Hamilton was less than focused on the tediousness of the research than it would not do any party involved any favors. 

The ginger did not look up, lost in his own thoughts, still spinning his pen. Burr cleared his throat and repeated the name with a little more force. Sharp blue eyes snapped up to meet his. 

“Mister Burr, sir,” Hamilton replied, tone bordering on surprise as if he had not realized Burr was still sitting across the desk from him. 

“What is the matter, Hamilton?” Burr asked, raising an eyebrow at the sudden fidgeting this question caused. 

Hamilton stopped spinning his pen and set it down forcefully, clasping his hands over the desk, looking as if he were going to come out of his skin. “It is nothing I assure you,” he said, trying and failing to make his words light. Instead they came out overly strained and full of tension. 

Black eyes surveyed the flushed man before him before Burr shook his head. Let the man keep his secrets. He turned back to his book, occasionally jotting down something of use when he found it. He was, however, realizing just how difficult this was going to prove. 

Hamilton watched him for a moment before going back to his own work, pen scratching against parchment. It wasn't long before the pen stopped and he was back to his distracted spinning and sighing. 

This carried on for another hour, Hamilton alternating between writing and sighing and spinning. All three noises were setting Burr’s teeth on edge. 

“For God’s sake, man!” Burr finally snapped, “Tell me what is wrong with you or pull yourself together!” 

Blue eyes were wide as the fairer man stared at him before sighing again making Burr want to scream. The pen clattered to the desk and Hamilton buried his face in his hands. Fingers tugged at his hair pulling the ginger strands from their tail. Burr frowned for a moment, finally closing the book, setting it aside fully. 

“Alexander?” He murmured hesitantly, watching the other man’s shoulders heave in yet another muffled sigh. 

There was a tense moment of silence as Burr watched Hamilton hesitantly. The other man seemed ready to come apart at the seams. Burr had never seen him like this, not even during the war, not even after John Laurens had died. 

“Alexander?” He tried again, pitching his voice gentle, hoping Hamilton would respond to it. A fine tremor when through the other man’s body before he exhaled loudly, too much force to be considered a sigh. 

The other man looked up at him finally, and Burr was shocked to see those blue eyes slightly red rimmed as if he had been fighting tears. He felt something twist in his gut, unsure what to do, or how to handle an upset Hamilton. Give him yelling, give him petulant, give him sullen, but visibly distraught? It left him with that unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“Mister Burr, sir,” Hamilton spoke slowly, the tone of his voice making Burr’s skin prickle. There was something happening here, something Hamilton was stalling in sharing.

Burr merely raised an eyebrow in response, refusing to show how much Hamilton’s hesitation was bothering him. 

There was another sigh, “I would politely request that our conversation remain within the confines of this office.” Red rimmed eyes went harm with meaning, and Burr inclined his head in agreement. 

A brief moment of fidgeting followed and Burr clenched his teeth, suppressing the urge to twitch at the sound of Hamilton spinning his pen once more. There another huff that was too forceful to be a sigh before the pen was set back on the desk. “John Laurens appeared on my doorstep several days ago.” 

The words hung in the air between them before Burr blinked in surprised confusion. He knew the other man had been working too hard, but he had been unaware that he had worked himself to the point of seeing things. “Alexander…” Burr started, voice tight with concern for the other man, setting his book aside, leaning in slightly.  

“I have not completely lost my faculties, Burr, I know what I saw, I know who is laying in my spare room half dead.” Hamilton said sharply, flush going high on his sharp cheeks, before he seemed to lose all air, slumping back over burying his head in his hands. 

Burr watched him for a moment, sitting back in his chair awkwardly, waiting for the other man to acknowledge him. After a long tense moment Hamilton looked up at him, chewing on his bottom lip as if trying to keep himself from saying something he thought he might regret. 

“The thought had not crossed my mind, my dear man,” Burr spoke placatingly, “However, Mr. Laurens has been dead for several months, you yourself wrote the announcement for the Post.”

Hamilton violently shook his head, hair flying from it’s tail from the force. “I tell you, Burr, I know who I have sleeping in my spare room.” It was as if all the fight had suddenly left the other man and he shook his head again, gentler this time. 

“Are you sure this man is your Laurens?” Burr asked carefully, gauging Hamilton’s reaction 

The look that fluttered across Hamilton’s face was a mix of indignance, annoyance, disbelief, and something akin to resignation. “I can assure you that the man who collapsed in my parlour from infection was indeed ‘my’ Laurens.” 

Burr was tempted to hold his hand up in surrender but he refrained. Instead he gave Hamilton an inquisitive look, “So, if you are quite sure of his identity why the agitation?” 

“I…” Hamilton paused, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. “It is just a feeling,” he finally settled on, frowning to himself. Burr could practically see his the wheels in his mind turn around as blue eyes focused on a spot on the wall and went unfocused. They sat in silence for a long moment, Burr waiting for the other man to come back to the task at hand, Hamilton seemingly lost in his thoughts.

“Hamilton,” Burr said, voice suddenly loud in the office, jerking the ginger from his thoughts, “Go home, you are not being of any help here.” 

The other man opened his mouth to protest but Burr beat him to it, “Alexander. Go home. Deal with your ‘feeling’ and come back tomorrow.” 

Hamilton shut his mouth so quietly his teeth clacked together audibly, and he flinched at the noise. Something dark passed over his features before he nodded, rising from his chair on unsteady legs, mind a thousand miles away, distracted as he gathered his things to return home. Burr watched him with a hint of something he could not place. It was disquieting to see the man in such a state. It was only a handful of moments of Hamilton fidgeting with the hem of his jacket before Burr stood, heaving his own heavy sigh. 

“Go home, Alexander,” he repeated taking the other man by the arm and forcing him towards the door, ignoring the weak protest as he practically shoved the smaller man out the door before closing it in his face. 

Finally, silence reigned and Burr shook his head as he returned to his work. He would be able to actually get work done now. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, if you see any errors please let me know. Thanks for reading!


	5. I didn't want to....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander shook his head furiously, ignoring the fact his face was on fire. He cut a look at the man propped up on the bed, an unnamed feeling scratching at his base of his spine. “If I recall correctly, John Laurens, you were persuasive in convincing the General of that custom as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this gets dark... and it will just get darker....

Alexander shook his head furiously, ignoring the fact his face was on fire. He cut a look at the man propped up on the bed, an unnamed feeling scratching at his base of his spine. “If I recall correctly, John Laurens, you were persuasive in convincing the General of that custom as well.” 

Laurens put on a look of innocence which was ruined by the quirking of his lips into a tiny smirk. “I am afraid I don't know what you mean, good man.” 

Eliza smothered a giggle at the look on her husband’s face, glancing back and forth between Laurens and Alexander. The two men were staring at each other almost identical looks of fond exasperation and teasing on their faces. For a moment she couldn’t help but feel as she was intruding on something private between them. She cleared her throat, standing, smoothing her palms down the front of her dress. 

“I shall leave you gentlemen to your reminiscing,” she said loudly, earning their attention, the flush creeping higher up her husband’s cheeks. 

Hamilton nodded, accepting his wife’s kiss to his cheek with grace, “I will be along to bed shortly.” 

She nodded, smiling gently at her husband, bidding both men goodnight, sweeping from the room in a flutter of long skirts and gentle chuckling. 

Blue eyes danced with mirth, hiding something else that was lurking deep within those amazing depths. “If I recall correctly,” Hamilton repeated, “You told the General that yourself when he caught us that one time.” 

Laurens swallowed hard, smile going tight. “Indeed,” he murmured, looking away from the other man. 

The noise made was much too heavy to be considered a sigh, and the mood in the room shifted from something light to something darker, the past creeping in with the lengthening shadows. 

Hamilton sank into the chair heavily, eyes down cast. He looked small today, smaller than Laurens could ever remember him looking. He sighed again, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, and Laurens couldn’t help a small smile. It seemed this had become the constant state of Hamilton’s hair recently. 

“Tell me what is on your mind, Hamilton,” Laurens requested softly, shifting against the pillows as a sudden stab of pain - sharp and insistent - went through him. 

Sharp blue eyes looked up at him, searching his face. Laurens tried to give him a smile but he felt it was strained with pain and discomfort. Hamilton sighed again settling back into the chair, tugging at his waist coat absently. 

There was a pause as Hamilton took a steadying breath before he spoke, “My heart was filled with joy when I saw you standing in my door way, my dear Laurens,” his words were almost inaudible but Laurens heard him anyway, heart clenching painfully. “Those months after you…” a hesitation, something Laurens had never seen in Hamilton’s speeches, “...after I was told you had died, they were hell. It was as if a part of me was gone, it was like missing my heart. I was living, working and breathing but I wasn’t alive. That part of me had died with you.” Those amazing eyes pierced him, shiny with emotion. “Because that is what you are, you are a part of me, John.” 

“Hamilton…” Laurens started, lifting a hand to reach for the other man. His slight motion was enough to cause him pain but he pushed it away holding his hand out, waiting for Hamilton to take it. He let about a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when the other man did. 

Slender fingers twind with his, holding him tight. “Why did you not seek aid sooner?” the question lacked the sharpness that Laurens had been expecting when this conversation eventually happened. 

Something sour settled in Lauren's stomach and he closed his eyes looking away from the penetrating blue gaze. It was like Hamilton always knew exactly what buttons to push, where to press to cause the most pain. And even if it wasn’t physical pain this time, the emotions of it were enough to cause a sharp pain through his chest. He knew he winced as he looked away, unable to help himself. 

The silence stretched before them, the only sound the sound of Laurens’ still harsh breathing and Hamilton’s steady, calming breaths. “Hamilton…” Laurens started, before swallowing hard, eyes opening to look back at the other man. “Alexander, please, I… I can’t.” 

Blue eyes went from hard and questioning to soft in a span of seconds and Laurens felt his heart racing in his chest as the other man stood. Of course, this was going to be it, Hamilton had finally tired of his antics, he was finally done with putting up with John Laurens and his sin against God, his moods, his desire to die. 

A sob lodged itself in Laurens throat as Hamilton gently pulled his fingers from Laurens’ tight grip. Laurens closed his eyes tight again, not wanting to watch the man walk away. Wanting to believe that this had all been a dream and that he would wake with Hamilton wrapped around him on the hard camp bed they had once shared. 

Instead of hard soled shoes walking away, he heard them clack to the floor free of the feet they covered, a gentle hand on his unbandaged shoulder. “Budge over, if you can,” Hamilton murmured, nudging him gently.

Laurens snapped his eyes open to stare at him in disbelief. A brow arched in question, as a small smile played on thin lips. He swallowed hard again, pain sweeping him as he shifted as much as he could, making room for the other man to climb onto the bed. Strong arms wrapped gingerly around him, pulling him close to that strong chest, and Laurens let out a sigh of relief as he let himself be held. 

Deft fingers stroked sweat soaked hair. Hamilton murmured soothing words as he pressed a kiss to the top of Laurens’ head. Laurens sighed again, letting his eyes drift closed, forgetting for a moment about the question that still lingered between the two of them. The silence was comfortable, full of unsaid meaning and something that Laurens still hesitated to call love. 

“John, I am glad you came to me,” Hamilton said softly, voice filled with emotion, never stopping in his petting of Laurens’ hair. “Not just this time, but I am glad you found me the first time too.” 

Something painful stabbed through Laurens and before he could stop it tears slipped from beneath closed eyes. Hamilton had so much love and trust in him, the other man believed in him, and Laurens had been selfish enough to have… well to have ordered what should have been his own death. Those arms tightened around him and more kisses were dropped into his hair. 

“I am sorry, John, are you in pain, let me…” Hamilton made as if to move from the bed, but Laurens held him tight, pressing his face into the space where neck met shoulder, inhaling the unique scent of Hamilton. Moments like this were hauntingly familiar and he ached even more for the past, when it had just been the two of them against the world. 

“I didn’t want to,” Laurens spoke softly after several moments of silence. 

The silence that now hung between the two men was stifling. Hamilton was tense next to him, fingers tightening in his hair almost imperceptibly. The breathes that passed between them were fraught with tension. “Didn’t want to what?” Hamilton’s tone was neutral but strained with hidden emotion. 

Laurens squeezed his eyes tighter closed, not wanting to see the look on Hamilton’s face. “I didn’t want to seek aid,” he said again, taking a deep breath ignoring the pain the action caused, his wound still stinging with pain. “I didn’t want to seek aid because I didn’t want to survive.” 

Hamilton all but froze next to him, barely breathing at Laurens’ declaration. Laurens swallowed and spoke again, the words now coming tumbling out. “I rushed headlong into a battle where we were sorely outnumbered. There was no ambush. I made the decision to engage, I…. I wanted to end the whole thing.” There was nothing stopping his confession now, eyes still squeezed tight, face still buried in Hamilton’s cravat. “I wanted to die, Hamilton, I have always wanted to die, and I never seemed to be able to. The only time I didn’t want to die was when I was with you.” 

The sharp breath stopped Laurens’ confession. The arm around him tightened again to the point of pain, fingers digging into his shoulder. “John…” Hamilton said softly, his voice full of something Laurens hesitated to call fear. 

“I don’t want you pity, I don’t need it. I have made mistakes, Hamilton, I have hurt so many people,” Laurens’ voice had gone hard as he pulled himself away from Hamilton, sweat beading on his brow as the still inflamed wounds screamed at him. 

Hamilton let him go, blue eyes hard around the edges as he met Laurens’ eyes. His face had gone tight with something Laurens could not identify. Darkness swam on the edges of Laurens’ vision and he blinked it away, barely repressing shivers of pain, a cold sweat leaving him feeling clammy. 

His words came out tight, “I have a daughter and I left her. I left her and I ran as far as I could. I left my daughter and my wife…” he let out a laugh that was more of a sob than a laugh. “I am not what you think I am, Alexander, I am not the man you hold to such high esteem, I’m not. I am a man whom you should loathe with every fibre your very being.” 

Blue eyes went dark at the mention of Laurens’ child. This was something Laurens had never told anyone, had kept this secret and had planned to keep it even in his death. He knew what Hamilton’s reaction was going to be, he knew the other man’s feelings on abandoned children, having been one himself. Tension settled in Hamilton’s body. 

He was silent as he pulled himself away from Laurens, shifting so he could stand, smoothing two trembling palms down the front of his breeches. He watched Laurens even as Laurens watched him. Laurens could see anger snapping behind other unnameable emotions swirling in blue eys. “Alexander…” Laurens started. 

“Goodnight, Laurens,” Hamilton spoke, words clipped and short, as he slide his shoes back on, not sparing the man another look as he left the room. 

Laurens watched him, feeling heavy in every way. It felt as if all the air left the room as Hamilton exited. The door was left open giving him hope that there might be a chance of reconciliation. Closing his eyes he sank back into the pillows, everything within him screaming at him to run, to leave the Hamilton’s home, to get as far away from his confession as he could. If he hadn’t been as weak as he was, if pain didn’t shoot through him at moment still, he would already be gone. Instead, he forced himself to grapple for sleep, finding it as the light was once more weakly filtering in through the windows.   


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was -and still am- hesitant about this chapter, about continuing this story in general. All hate directed my way will be promptly deleted and if it is too much there is no guarantee that there will ever be another chapter of this or another fic from me ever. I am tired of the hate that is spreading like a virus in this fandom and while I have done my best to avoid it, it has still impacted me. So before you read and comment, think to yourself, do you really know who you are sending hate to? Do you know my life, my story, who I am? Or are you just assuming things to make yourself feel better.... 
> 
> Anyway, here's the next chapter. Thanks for reading, y'all.

It had been several days since he had last seen Hamilton, his heart growing heavier with his own self loathing and anger at the other man for not being able to understand. Soon that anger faded into yet more self loathing. Eliza was kind as ever, tending to him in near silence, helping him as best she could. The young black girl, Anna, he learned her name was, helping the mistress of the house. She was bright and funny and a kind soul, but her gentle humming and singing when she was with him did nothing to ease his soul- in fact it made him feel sick. He finally realized where he recognized the tune from. It stirred memories from his childhood in South Carolina watching the blacks in the fields, further cementing the unease he had felt since that night Hamilton had left. 

His wounds had begun to heal, physical pain lessening with each day. He was anxious to leave his sick bed, and Eliza was more than willing to help him. Which is how he found himself down in the parlour he had first collapsed in those several days ago when he had first arrived. Down in the kitchen he could hear Eliza cooing at her young son, Anna humming as she helped the mistress of the house. A warm fire had been lit in the hearth, banishing the chill that had settled over the city. Despite the warmth of the room he still felt cold, a small chill setting deep in his bones, and he could tell it had nothing to do with the lingering physical ache. 

He had taken to watching the flames dance in the hearth, their color warm and inviting, reminding him of the many fires of many camps. The shadows cast around the room, the warmth it brought. For a long moment he was back in the war, huddled next to a shivering Hamilton who was grousing under his breath about how damn cold America was, despite the pile of blankets he had wrapped himself in, despite the fact he was wrapped around Laurens like a baby koala. Things had been different then, less complicated even with a war waging around them. And now, well now, he had managed to mess everything up as it seemed was his wont in life. 

“I am sure you are that glad to be outta that room, Mr. Laurens.” 

The voice was soft and kind but still startled him, mind being forcefully dragged back to the present as Anna set a tray down on the table next to the chair in which he was seated. He blinked at her for a moment, watching the young girl watch him. “Yes, very,” he responded shortly, swallowing past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. 

Anna hmmed thoughtfully at him and nodded as if she had come to some kind of conclusion. “Ms. Eliza is that worried about Mr. Hamilton, sir,” she paused, lowering her voice, leaning forward slightly as if sharing a great secret with him, “I’m that worried for Mr. Hamilton, sir, he ain’t been himself, and Ms. Eliza ain’t been herself, and I know it ain’t my place, sir, but Mr. Hamilton talked so kindly of you when you was sick, that I thought, maybe…” 

“Anna, leave Mr. Laurens be please,” Eliza’s tense voice cut Anna off mid sentence before she even had a chance to get her request out. The lady of the house was standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, a sour look on her face as she watched both Anna and Laurens. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Anna mutter bowing her head, casting a hopeful look at Laurens, before scurrying away. 

Eliza’s eyes were hard as she appraised Laurens, and he couldn’t help but feel that all warm camaraderie the two had created those few days ago had disappeared with Hamilton. Laurens met her gaze unflinchingly before her dark eyes softened, and she sighed, coming into the room, sitting herself down in the chair across from him. 

“John,” she started, shaking her head, glancing away briefly before back over at him, “If I may be frank with you for a moment sir,” she paused again, seeming to wait for Laurens’  brief nod of approval before she started again, “Anna was correct, I am worried about my Alexander.” 

Laurens felt the lump in his throat expand and it threatened to choke him, “Worried, I am afraid I don’t know what you mean.” 

She sighed again, sinking further into her chair, “I do not know what happened between my husband and yourself, but I am concerned, sir. Alexander has not come home in several day, and while this in and of itself is not unusual, it is unusual for him to disappear without a word.” 

There was a pounding in his chest, something hard and heavy, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs, his mind going to all the possible ways he could try to convince Eliza that nothing had happened between him and Hamilton when all he wanted to do was tell her everything, bear his soul. Instead he swallowed hard and shook his head, “Again, I afraid I do not know what you mean, but I am sure your husband is fine, he often disappeared like this during the war, lost in his work, in his writing.” 

Dark eyes stared at him as if they could see into his very soul, doing very little to ease his troubles. He stared back briefly before looking away. He could still feel the heat of Eliza's eyes on him before she also looked away. There was silence between them before Eliza cleared her throat. “I am sure you must want a bath. I shall have water brought up for you and call my husband to assist you if you require,” she spoke firmly and quickly, leaving no room for argument. 

Laurens opened his mouth to protest, words dying on his tongue at Eliza’s sharp look, “As many lines of propriety that we have crossed already, Mr. Laurens, I am afraid this is one that must stay intact. I have no doubt Alexander will be more than willing to aid you, just as I have no doubt you will need aid.” 

He blinked at her dumbly, watching the mistress of the house nod sharply at him before turning on her heel and leaving the room. He wasn't sure what had just transpired, where the sudden forcefulness had come from, but he did know he was not overly fond of the idea of Hamilton helping him bathe. But at the same time, a bath would be most welcome and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he did need help. 

***

It was several hours later, Laurens still seated comfortably in the arm chair, alternating between dozing and reading the abandoned book of classics, when the front door clicked open. It startled him from his half slumber and he felt his heart begin to race when a haggard looking Hamilton stepped into the room. His normally open face hard and stony, dark circles making his brilliant eyes seem brighter, despite the exhaustion clear in them. 

There was a moment of tense silence before Hamilton spoke, “Laurens.” 

“Hamilton.” 

It was then that Eliza swept into the room, Philip perched on her hip, the boy happily sucking on the head of a polished wooden lion. “Alexander, I'm glad you're home,” she smiled at her husband, words soft and sweet but undercut with a tenseness that spoke of a reprimand in the near future for disappearing without a word, “And just in time too. Mr. Laurens has asked for a bath, and it is good fortune you have arrived to aid him, seeing as his wound still pains him.” 

Hamilton looked as if he was going to say something but instead nodded once at his wife, “Of course.” He turned those fathomless eyes on Laurens and for a moment Laurens thought he was going to drown in the depths of emotions he found there. “I would be glad to assist our dear Laurens.” 

The words were tense and something crackled in the air even as Eliza hummed in approval. “Excellent, I'll have hot water brought up right away. And your clothes, Mr. Laurens, I've laundered and mended, I'll have those for you as well,” Eliza’s tone left no room for argument as she adjusted baby Philip on her hip and swept from the room. 

Hamilton stared at him for a moment, expression almost completely neutral except for those eyes, those eyes that showed everything. Laurens swallowed hard before attempting to push himself up in his chair. He was determined to manage the stairs on his own power. His determination was overpowered by pain and physical weakness, and he sagged back in the chair, face pinched with pain. 

A familiar hand rested on his good shoulder, and something akin to a shiver went through him. Hamilton was watching with, eyes appraising and dark and fathomless. They stayed like that for a moment before Laurens swallowed his pride and reached for Hamilton’s offered hand to pull himself out of the armchair. He was still weak, as much as he hated to admit it, and Hamilton's assistance was begrudgingly welcomed. Laurens knew that at some point during this endeavor they were going to have to speak about what had transpired the other night. And he wasn't sure he was ready to break Hamilton’s heart or for Hamilton to break his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sinning with me. As always let me know if there are any mistakes or errors. 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://nightoftheland.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And my modern era [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/438031)
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> Thanks again for reading!
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> If there are negative comments about how these characters are depicted, keep them to yourself please. I have done my best to take into consideration the... advice I have been given, so if I have failed in your eyes, I do not want to hear about it. Have a lovely day, and thanks again.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t so much as an indignity as a mild annoyance, requiring Hamilton’s help to bathe. He was more than perfectly capable of doing this on his own, had been for many many years, and yet there he was. Hamilton’s hands were gentle even if his mood was still sour. The ever-present ache had flared into burning pain as they had worked his shirt over his head, pain leaving him breathless. Concern had flashed across Hamilton’s features before it settled into that now familiar neutral look. His tunic having been shed, Hamilton turned his back to give the other man the illusion of privacy.

“Alexander,” Laurens said, swallowing hard as the other man’s shoulders tensed, “I…” 

Hamilton shook his head sharply, turning back around with a flourish, eyes shining with something Laurens thought could be anger. “I am not angry at you, I am not,” Hamilton paused, blinking a few times his gaze softening as he stared at Laurens standing only in his breeches and the bandage wound around his chest. “I am… hurt, for lack of a better term, and confused.”

Laurens hung his head slightly, staring at the floorboards, feeling something that felt very much like regret edge itself in his chest. The man had every right to be angry with him, for everything, all the lies, the corruption in Laurens’ very soul. And yet here he was, watching him with those eyes, those eyes that Laurens had fallen for from the very first night. He closed his own eyes, not wanting the other man to see him, it was childish logic, logic he knew was immensely flawed and nonsensical, but it comforted him in some way to think that he could hide from that piercing stare.

“I know,” he murmured softly, eyes still closed, flinching slightly when a gentle hand touched his arm. A shiver went through him that had nothing to do with the chill in the room.

The hand gave his bicep a gentle squeeze, “You should bathe before the water goes cold.”

He opened his eyes to see Hamilton staring at him, eyes appraising him with an intelligence that even still amazed Laurens. He gave a sharp nod, and before he could move, deft fingers were unbuttoning his breeches. Laurens shivered again, improper thoughts fluttering through his mind. Silence reigned in the room as Hamilton tugged his breeches down and Laurens stepped out of them. He could feel a fine flush rise on his cheeks, spreading down his chest and up to the tips of his ears. 

Hamilton gave him a sad little smile, before nudging him towards the steaming tub. A small moan escaped his lips as he sank into the warm water, careful to keep his bandages from getting wet. He relaxed into the water, closing his eyes again, sighing in almost contentment as the warmth seeped into his bones. Beside the tub there was a cracking of knees as Hamilton settled himself on the floor next to him. 

“Laurens….” Hamilton paused, “John, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Dark eyes met light and Laurens sighed again, this time not in contentment as much as frustration. Frustration at himself, at the world, at the circumstances that lead him to this moment. “I am sorry, I am truly,” he swallowed hard, skimming a hand through the water for something to do. Hamilton was quiet next to him, still watching him almost unblinkingly. He watched the patterns in the water scrubbing at his forearms, skin turning pink in the hot water and friction. “Alexander, I wanted to tell you, I started to so many times. But every time, every damn time, you’d look at me and I couldn’t stand the thought of you looking at me with anger, and I knew, I knew, you would be angry. And you are angry, and you have every right to be.”

Hamilton was looking at him with those eyes, seeing into his very soul, but he said nothing, reaching out to take Laurens’ hand before he scrubbed his skin off completely. He held his hand loosely, lacing their lingers together. They still fit together so well, almost like their hands were meant for eachother. Laurens was silent, simply staring down at their joined hands. He swallowed hard, feeling heat prickling behind his eyes, blinking his emotion away. 

“Do you love her?” Hamilton asked quietly, also staring at where he was gently rubbing his thumb across the top of Laurens’ hand. He looked entranced by the motion of his own hand. 

Laurens took a moment to try to decide how he should answer. To tell the truth would expose him, would show him what he actually is. It was more acceptable for to have dalliances with a fellow soldier and then go home to a wife than it was to feel nothing for a wife and have no plans to return to her. “I…” he bit his bottom lip, swallowing back his emotions again, “I respect her. I think I could have learned to love her, if I had stayed. But I do not think I wanted to learn,” he stopped again, looking up at Hamilton’s unreadable face, “I did not think myself capable of love. I did not think that I would love someone until…” 

He was cut off by Hamilton lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles. The sharp breath he drew in was the only sound in the room other than the water sloshing slightly at the movement. Hamilton looked up at him, eyes ablaze with something Laurens couldn’t identify. “I know,” Hamilton said softly, smiling at him. 

“I never had interest in love, not in that way, I thought I would never find it,” Laurens continued softly. 

The other man continued to smile at him in a way Laurens couldn’t place. It was a sad smile laced with something that looked a lot like love. That thought made Laurens’ heart skip a beat. There was no way that the other man should still love him, not after everything. He blinked quickly but could not stop the heat behind his eyes from building and spilling over. 

“John,” Hamilton breathed, reaching out with the hand that was not holding his to brush the single tear away. Worry graced his features, but Laurens couldn’t seem to find words. It was like he was frozen, Hamilton’s fingers laced with his, Hamilton’s fingers tracing his face, Hamilton’s eyes so full of emotion that Laurens was drowning in them. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed to gasp out, choking slightly as he sucked a breath into strangled lungs. He was trembling with his tearless crying. 

The fingers on his face went to his hair, tugging slightly at the greasy locks, cupping the back of his head. Hamilton moved so he was kneeling up on his knees, pressing his forehead to Laurens, his eyes closed. They were so close that Laurens could feel Hamilton’s hot breath ghost across the skin of his face. It sent shivers down his spine, along with inappropriate thoughts. He shook with another dry sob, knowing that he would never have again what he most desperately wants. 

“John,” Hamilton whispered again, bringing their still joined hands up to rest against his lips, kissing Lauren’s knuckles again, leaving them there, “John, I may not understand why you did not tell me, and I may be hurt, but that will never change what - how - I feel.” 

Laurens let out a shuddering sigh, almost another sob, pressing tighter against Hamilton shivering in the rapidly cooling water. Something broke in him and he reached for Hamilton, cupping his cheek, pulling him away just enough to look him in the eye. They stared at each other for several long minutes. Laurens wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he was aware of was soft lips pressing to his. 

Gasping against those lips, he shifted in the water, ignoring how it sloshed slightly in his haste, pressing against Hamilton desperately. It had been so long. He didn’t want to stop. The insistent tongue that slipped inside his mouth, dancing with his tongue, drawing a weak moan from him. He could feel desire coursing through his veins, inappropriate in this moment, embarrassing in his state of undress. But he did not stop, did not let the other man go. 

Hamilton drew away first, face flushed red and lips kiss bitten. There was a wild look in his eyes as he stared at Laurens. “I have missed you,” Hamilton said softly. 

It was Laurens turn to pull Hamilton to him, lips brushing together softly, before he pressed a kiss to Hamilton’s forehead. “Mon lion,” he muttered, kissing his forehead again, “I am sorry, for everything.” 

The smile that lit up Hamilton’s face was laced with his hurt but his eyes were sparkling again. He cast a meaningful glance to Laurens’ lap where his cock was half hard, his eyes full of mischief. “I see you have missed me as well, my Laurens,” he teased. 

A flush flared over Laurens face at Hamilton’s gentle laughter, “Not to worry, dear man, shall I help you?” 

Laurens splutter a bit face turning even brighter red even as Hamilton laughed again leaning in to kiss him sweetly again. The kiss was mostly chaste but Laurens could still feel himself hardening further. “Alexander,” he muttered against his lips. 

The other man pulled away with a knowing look. “Let me wash your hair,” he said instead, and Laurens nodded at him. 

Clever fingers scrubbed through Laurens’ greasy locks, massaging his scalp gently. Laurens couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped his lips as Hamilton worked soap into his hair. The water had gone mostly tepid but it wasn’t yet completely cold. A thousand thoughts danced through Laurens’ head as Hamilton washed his hair. Half of those were not at all appropriate and the other half were even less so. It was intoxicating having the other man this close to him, feeling his fingers on his body again, even in the innocent action of washing his hair. 

“John?” Hamilton’s voice broke his thoughts. He shivered slightly with a small chill, the water having gone cold around him. “Where were you?” Hamilton asked, a small smile upturning his lips. 

“Do you remember the day we found that pond and spent the day swimming?” Laurens asked, watching as the memory entered Hamilton’s head and a small smile upturned his lips. 

“The pond you decided would be the perfect place to avoid all our duties? I remember the lecture we got when we returned to camp,” Hamilton replied, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

Laurens returned the laugh with one of his own, heaving himself out the water, Hamilton done with his hair, the water gone completely cold. The other man helped him out of the tub, reaching for a towel to wrap around him. “No one would have known if you had not insisted on one last swim before we had to return to camp,” he teased back. 

Hamilton laughed, stepping away letting Laurens have some room to dry himself off carefully, moving with care to avoid aggravating his still painful wound. “Yes, it was our wet hair that gave us away,” Hamilton was still laughing even as he reached for the towel to help Laurens dry his hair. 

There was silence between the two men as Hamilton gently rubbed Laurens’ locks dry with the towel. He couldn’t help but give a happy sigh even as he was awkwardly crouched to let the slightly shorter man reach his head. Hamilton was wrinkling his nose as he pulled the towel away, handing it to Laurens so the other man could wrap it tightly around his waist. 

“Well you certainly can not put those on again until they have been washed,” Hamilton gestured at the pile of clothing on the floor. 

Laurens couldn't help but raise a teasing eyebrow. The slighter man rolled his eyes as if he knew what Laurens was thinking. “I think I have some things that might fit you, if not tightly,” he said, giving his own suggestive eyebrow wiggle at the last bit before spinning on his heel and exiting. 

The laugh that followed Hamilton was startled and Laurens was surprised at himself. After everything it still seemed that the other man could still make him laugh. The laughter faded into a sigh and he really looked around the room for the first time. It wasn’t anything special, the bed he had spent the past many days in situated against one wall, a decent sized window. It was a comfortable room. 

Hamilton returned fairly quickly with fresh clothes, handing them to Laurens, letting the man dress without a word, offering no aid except to help him pull the shirt over his head. The breeches were tight and short, ending right at his knee. The shirt was surprisingly loose, but Laurens welcomed the looseness, it relieved some of the tenseness in his shoulders and the pressure against his still aching wound. 

Keen eyes gave him a once over before thin lips smirked at him. “Well, I suppose it is better than walking around with no clothes,” Hamilton quipped, raising an eyebrow at Laurens. 

He returned the eyebrow raise with one of his own, a witty retort of his tongue before Eliza’s voice floated up the stairs and through the partially open door. “Dinner is ready.” 

Eye met and Hamilton’s smirk turned into a smile. “Come, I should feed you before I put you to bed,” he said, resting a hand on Laurens’ good shoulder. 

Laurens was about to retort he was not at all feeling tired when he failed to stifle a yawn. It seemed he was getting tired after all. It hit him suddenly and he felt his limbs go heavy. He could probably make it through dinner but then Hamilton was right, he would be retiring to bed. Ignoring Hamilton’s knowing look, he started for the stairs.  

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has been a long time coming and I am sorry for that. I hope the wait was worth it. Enjoy.

Dinner that evening was an exhausting affair. Well, no, that wasn't quite right. Dinner itself was a fine time, the food good even if he felt slightly nauseous after eating so much, Hamilton and Eliza good company. He was just exhausted. 

It was a bone weariness that had hit him suddenly after his bath and he couldn't shake it. He knew he was being rude, barely speaking at all during dinner, content to listen to Hamilton complain about the struggling legal system. Eliza was giving her husband an indulgent smile and would every so often make a noise of interest. Keen eyes would flick to Laurens at random intervals and he couldn't help but feel like he should contribute something. 

Instead he would give a brief nod of encouragement or make an appropriate noise in response to what the other man was saying. It was all he could do at the moment, all of his energy focused on staying awaking and getting the fork from his plate to his mouth. 

Hamilton almost seemed to not notice as he continued his mostly one sided conversation. It didn’t deter Hamilton in the least, but Eliza was watching Laurens with concerned eyes. There was more behind her gaze than just worry for her house guest, it seemed to Laurens that the woman could see the improper thoughts floating through his head head about her husband. Laurens avoided the woman’s eyes as best he could throughout the meal. 

“Alexander,” Eliza’s gentle voice interrupted her husband and for a moment Laurens felt his heart stop in his chest. 

The other man blinked slowly at his wife, who nodded in Laurens’  direction discretely before she raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should save our talk of politics for the breakfast table when all parties are a more awake?” she suggested lightly.

Hamilton’s eyes darted to look at Laurens and he made a face that read of concern. Laurens knew how he must look sitting at the Hamiltons’ dining table in breeches too short and a tunic too large, indecent in all forms of the word. To add insult to injury he was falling asleep over his dinner plate. He couldn't help but let his cheeks go red from something akin to embarrassment. Hamilton blinked at him for a moment before setting the fork he had been so violently gesturing with just a moment down on the plate. 

“Of course, my apologies my Laurens,” Hamilton’s voice was low, his early exuberance gone. He suddenly sounded as tired as Laurens felt. It had been a long many days for him as well as for Laurens. Hamilton had always been good at hiding his exhaustion but now it seemed he was willing to let himself show the weakness momentarily. 

Laurens nodded briefly, setting his own fork down on his still half full plate. “I think I might excuse myself, by your leave, Mrs. Hamilton,” he gave Eliza a tight smile. 

Eliza nodded at him, smiling back at him, “Of course,” she turned to her husband, “Alexander, will you help our Mr. Laurens upstairs?” 

“I really don’t,” Laurens started the same time Hamilton nodded, shoving his chair back, saying “Of course.” 

Hamilton hovered next to him as they mounted the stairs, Laurens moving slowly, his limbs feeling heavy like lead was weighing him down. Despite feeling stronger earlier in the day, it seemed like everything that he had done that day had caught up with him, and how he was reminded just how weak he actually still was. Half way up the stairs he felt slightly light headed; the strong hand on his back steadying him sent a tingle down his spine. That desire he had shoved away from earlier was creeping back, making his skin burn under his ill fitting clothing where Hamilton was touching him. 

They reached the guest room, the tub having been moved off to the side, Laurens couldn’t help but be happy to see the bed he had just spent so much time in. Hamilton’s hand didn’t leave his back as he crossed the room to sink down onto the bed. He let out a sigh as he let himself relax a little, he was so tired suddenly. 

Deft fingers stroked through his hair, and he snapped his eyes open, he couldn’t even remember closing his eyes, meeting concern in Hamilton’s amazing eyes. Hamilton brushed his hair off his face, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. Laurens couldn’t help but let his eyes fall closed again, leaning into the gentle touch. He was all but purring as he felt the bed dip next to him as the other man sat down next to him. 

Laurens sighed again, leaning heavily against Hamilton, letting his head rest on the bony shoulder, soaking in the warmth of the other man. He let himself relax into the gentle touch that had left his head and down to the back of his neck, stroking up and down his back. Hamilton let out a sigh to match his own, leaning down to drop a gentle kiss into his hair. 

“John,” Hamilton murmured into the soft curls. 

He hummed back, nuzzling into Hamilton’s shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of Hamilton’s silky hair and warm skin. Something was thrumming under his skin, his heart was pounding in his chest, beating a tattoo against his rib cage. The tiredness he had felt earlier was disappearing being replaced with a need that he had not felt in such a long time; the touches from the bath earlier not counting. 

His voice was rough with a desire he wanted to hide. “Alexander,” he whispered, pressing lips to exposed skin just above the loosened neck stock. Hamilton drew a sharp breath through his nose at the touch, going tense under Laurens’ lips, his hands stilling on the small of Laurens’ back. 

“John,” he said again, his voice pinched, something like pain hidden under the layers of desire. Laurens closed his eyes at the sound, resting his cheek once again against the bony shoulder, the fine fabric of Hamilton’s coat tickling his stubbly cheek. He knew he shouldn’t, but there was something in him that was driving him forward, making him more reckless than normal. 

There was silence around them. Laurens leaning heavily against Hamilton’s side, the slighter man holding him to his side, a finely muscled arm wrapped around Laurens in a strong half embrace. The only sound in the room was the ambient noises of the house outside the door, and both of their slightly ragged breathing. The moment stretched on for an almost uncomfortable in its length. 

Hamilton cleared his throat, shifting so he was leaning away from Laurens slightly. “I should, ah, let you get some rest,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet. Laurens sat up just in time to keep himself from falling over, wincing at the pull of still tender flesh. He watched Hamilton with something like hurt swimming in his veins, he had been foolish to think what they had had before would be had again. The man had a wife he was in love with and a son he adored. He wasn’t going to throw it all away for someone like Laurens. The encounter during the bath had been a mistake on both their parts. 

“Good night, then, Hamilton,” Laurens said, voice pitched low, as he stared down at his hands clasped in his lap like a schoolgirl. He was really pathetic wasn’t he? Why did he think anything in the past few days had been a good idea? Ah, to go back in time and prevent his past self from coming to the Hamilton’s home. 

The man spun around as quickly as he had stood. The kiss had been a surprise. Hamilton acting on impulse, his good sense having apparently vanished. Laurens couldn’t stop the noises that left him, ones of surprise and need; Hamilton’s lips were soft, slightly chapped, but amazing against his, desire rekindling in his veins from the brief - all too brief - kiss while bathing. Hamilton bit at his lower lips, drawing another noise from his lips, and he gasped into the kiss, leaning into the other man. 

“Please,” Laurens murmured around the kiss, and he felt Hamilton go still against him. Laurens pulled back slightly, watching the man with wide eyes, waiting for Hamilton to react. He didn’t know if he wanted him to kiss him again or he wanted Hamilton to pull away and in the morning they could act like nothing had happened. Didn’t know if he wanted to pick up where they had left off earlier, if he wanted Hamilton to shove him down on the bed and ravish him. Pupil blown eyes met his and he could see the desire that burned in them, could see the need that pooled in those fathomless depths.  

Slightly calloused fingers cupped his face and pulled him close again, lips brushing against his tentatively before pressing firmly against his again. Laurens sighed into the kiss, letting his lips falls open. A tentative tongue darted into his mouth, tangled briefly with his before retreating. He chased it, leaning into the kiss, their tongues dancing together, his hands coming up to grasp the lapels of Hamilton’s house coat. He pulled Hamilton to him, tugging him forward so Hamilton was all but forced to lean into him. Laurens shifted, spreading his legs so Hamilton could stand between his knees. Their lips slide against each other in that easy practiced way that was familiar. Desire and want sparked in Laurens’ blood and he stifled a moan against Hamilton’s lips. 

Nimble fingers came up to play in his hair, and he pulled away from the kiss the pant out little breaths of pleasure against Hamilton’s parted lips. He let his eyes slide shut as Hamilton’s fingers carded through his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp, like they had earlier when Hamilton was washing his hair. “Alexander,” Laurens was surprised by the sound of his own voice, hoarse and breathless, too loud in in the otherwise mostly silent room. 

Hamilton pulled away almost abruptly as he had kissed Laurens. His face was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. His eyes were slightly glazed as he looked at Laurens, eyes wide and full of something Laurens couldn’t place. “John, I - I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmured, even as he stayed where he was, in fact Laurens was sure that he leaned closer. 

“I am sorry, Alexander, I should not - I can not ask you to do this. I - we - I’m sorry,” Laurens had more to say but Hamilton’s lips were back on his, the soft kiss from before replaced with something that was full of passion and desire and need and Laurens couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him as he kissed back, parting his lips letting Hamilton’s tongue tangle with his own. 

They fumbled together for a moment, both forgetting for a moment how to move together, where limbs went, how to tilt heads to keep noses from bumping. But it didn’t take them long to find their rhythm again, Laurens letting himself be pushed back onto the bed, breath leaving him with a huff as Hamilton clamored over him, their lips never parting. Clever fingers danced up under the over large tunic Laurens wore and he gasped at the cool touch. Hips arched up, ignoring the twinge of discomfort as he twisted his body. 

Hamilton ground his hips down against him, desire evident against Laurens’ hip. They rocked together, lips moving together in a slick slide, hot breath panted against skin as hands roamed, reacquainting themselves with skin, finding hard flesh. Laurens tugged at Hamilton’s neck stock, pulling the piece of cloth free from it’s knot, lips pressing once more to the skin of his neck. Hamilton’s hands ghosted up his chest and he moaned in part pain and part pleasure as arched up into the touch. When Hamilton cupped his aching cock through his overly tight breeches he let out a gasp that turned into a low moan. Clever fingers dipped below the fabric and it only took a few strokes on Hamilton’s lightly calloused hand on his weeping cock for him to come, lights dancing behind his eyes, arching up into Hamilton’s hold, gasping out Hamilton’s name as he spent himself all over Hamilton’s hand. 

“Alexander,” he gasped, wrapping his arms around the other man as lips attached to the place where neck met shoulder, licking at the sweat beading there, Hamilton’s hips rocking against his. All it took was Laurens reaching down to grasp the firm cheeks of Hamilton’s ass, hands slipping under the cloth, finding warm skin, stroking along the cleft, for the man to gasp out a muffled curse and come, hips stuttering to a stop. 

He collapsed back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Hamilton as the man let himself fall face first onto the bed, half on top of Laurens half on the bed. Laurens grunted in pain and they rearranged so Hamilton was on his back with Laurens draped over his chest. It was almost an exact reversal of how they laid in the past. Something twisted in Laurens’ chest as they caught their breaths. This was just a tease, it could never be, they could never have this again, there was no chance that they would have this again. 

“Alexander,” he murmured, feeling his previous exhaustion come creeping back in, limbs feeling even heavier than they had before. 

He felt Hamilton sigh more than heard, the man pulling him closer, pressing his face into his hair. “I know,” Hamilton whispered against his hair, and Laurens could all but hear him close his eyes and frown into his hair. Laurens squeezed his eyes shut and told himself to enjoyed this while it lasted, and pressed his face into Hamilton’s chest, just breathing in the scent of the man, fighting the emotions that threatened to take over. He was so tired, so so tired, down to his bones and he tried to make his mind stop as he let himself surrender to the feel of the warm body under him, the feel of fingers in his hair, and he slipped into a troubled sleep. 

**

Hamilton was trying so hard to keep his breathing even, was trying to ignore the twinge of emotional pain in his chest as the lust in his blood cooled and Laurens slowly relaxed into sleep on top of him. He let himself play with the other man’s still slightly damp locks, letting his mind wander as he held the first love of his life. 

He closed his eyes and breathed out through his nose in a slow exhale as he grappled with himself, just down the hall, or maybe she was still downstairs, was his wife. The woman whom he had pledged to spend the rest of his life with, to be faithful to, to love unconditionally, and his heart twisted. After a few moments, making sure Laurens was asleep, he gently shifted the man so he cloud slide out from under him. He was careful in arranging him on the bed, adjusting the blankets so he could cover him. Something else twisted in his chest that felt suspiciously like love as he looked down at Laurens’ sleeping face. Brow furled, face tense as if he were in pain. And Hamilton couldn’t help but think he was the one who put that frown there. 

Tracing a single finger down his cheek, willing the lines away, he sighed to himself, and moved to leave the room. He would have to do something about his soiled breeches that were starting to become rather uncomfortable. He slipped silently down the hall, glad that Eliza had not retired to bed yet, and made haste in readying himself for bed, washing away all signs of his lapse of good sense. 

He curled himself in bed, pretending to sleep as Eliza joined him. He heard her give a little fond sigh when she saw him, and the knife in his chest twisted some more. The temptation to tell her, to lay his soul bare to her was so powerful. And he was so close, but then the candle was extinguished and Eliza was in bed, pressing herself against him, cuddling close. He just closed his eyes tightly, and willed himself to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. If you see any glaring errors please, as always, let me know.


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